


Bonus Features

by BlueJay_Silvertongue



Category: Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins)
Genre: F/F, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28588362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueJay_Silvertongue/pseuds/BlueJay_Silvertongue
Summary: Oneshots, deleted/alternate scenes (originally posted on Tumblr)Chapter 4: Martha tells Donna the truth about the Amazons.
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Isabel Maru, Hippolyta (Wonder Woman)/Martha Kent
Comments: 23
Kudos: 9





	1. A Game of War (Crack)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wonder Woman, Dr. Poison, and Ares walk into a bar...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original post: https://bluejaywriter.tumblr.com/post/165623050965/diana-ares-and-dr-poison-walk-into-a-bar-they

_“YOU KNOW SHE DESERVES IT, THEY ALL DESERVE IT! DO IT!”_

Maybe it’s the searing heat from the wall of fire, or maybe it’s Ares’ palpable rage—the God of War unleashed at last—but there is a bloodlust pouring through Diana’s veins, and she sets her chin and tenses her arms to throw the tank, ready to wipe this pathetic _human_ from the face of this wretched world. Flames are rising up around them like a precursor to hell; Dr. Poison has the gall to terrified for a fleeting second, and then...

“Hold on, wait a minute, we can’t _all_ die!”

The sound of the roaring fires falls abruptly silent. Diana stands, breathing, and Dr. Poison makes a face, then turns to look over her shoulder with a glare.

 _“Really,_ Ares? You decided to wait until _now_ to come to that conclusion?”

“I just realized,” he says defensively, strolling up to them. “Diana kills Ludendorff, you kill Steve, Diana kills you, I kill Diana—”

“In your _dreams_ , brother,” Diana hisses, but Ares waves an impatient hand. Dr. Poison rolls her eyes and rises from the still-burning tarmac, casually brushing the debris from her jacket.

“Anyway, it’s barely 9:30,” Ares goes on. “Sunrise isn’t for another 10 hours, we need to... pace ourselves.”

Dr. Poison stares, then throws up her arms, waving an irritated hand in the general direction of the burning hanger.

“Well, my lab has _conveniently_ been destroyed, so unfortunately, I have no interest in wasting time,” she snaps.

“Fine. Kill her, Diana,” Ares interrupts, turning his back with a disinterested air.

“I thought that’s what you just stopped me from doing in the first place!” Diana exclaims angrily, turning and throwing down the tank. It slams into the concrete with a hearty crunch, and the God of War ducks as bits of metal fly into the air. Dr. Poison crosses her arms, looking unimpressed.

“If we’re not killing anyone, could we at least relocate? Some of us have to _breathe_ in order to survive.”

“You would know,” Ares snorts.

“Indeed,” she replies, her eyes glittering. Diana glances from face to face, frowning. 

_“...do I always get stuck with a pack of fools,”_ Ares mutters under his breath, then he raises a lazy hand. “I’m transporting us, by the way, Diana.”

“She just said that…?” Diana says, her eyebrows drawing together.

“I _know_ that, and I _also_ know that you have a terrible fight or flight mode when you’re facing something strange—”

“Stop yapping and get us out of here!” Dr. Poison shouts as the just-thrown tank bursts into flames, throwing a merry shower of sparks over their yapping figures. Ares waves his hand, and all at once, they’re sitting around a table in a dark, dingy room. The bare lightbulb over their heads gives an ominous flicker.

“Not the God of Class, now, are you?” Dr. Poison grumbles. Ares throws a pack of cards onto the table, and empties a handful of poker chips from his pocket—apparently, his armor has pockets.

“I’ll go get drinks. Diana, deal,” he adds before strolling away.

“I don’t—” Dr. Poison begins, but the god has already disappeared. “—drink. Blast it.”

“Deal?” Diana asks, her eyes dark, as if it was a challenge.

“...the cards?” Dr. Poison says, raising an eyebrow.

“Cards? What, these?” she says, scrunching up her face as she cautiously reaches for the box.

“Have you never played poker before?” Dr. Poison asks, rising to scoop up the chips with gloved fingers.

“No,” Diana says, shaking the cards out into her palm and gingerly inspecting the strange pictures. 

“...have you never seen a pack of cards before?” Dr. Poison says after a pause.

Diana shakes her head and begins sorting the cards by color, and then, _Wait, these shapes are different!_ and she begins sorting them by suit. Dr. Poison crosses her arms and watches, amused.

“They only had mead and wine, so I brought both—what are you _doing?!”_

The round kegs tumble from Ares' arms as he surges forward, apparently scandalized by Diana’s activities.

“The girl doesn’t know how to play,” Dr. Poison says, frowning at him. “And I don’t drink.”

“You’re not supposed to _sort_ the—it defeats the whole _purpose_ of the...” Ares splutters, lunging across the table to seize at cards, the horns of his helmet nearly jabbing Dr. Poison in the face. Diana slaps his hand.

“I’m not done!”

“Diana—sister,” Ares says through his teeth, his hands balled into fists. “The point of the game is to not know which cards you’re going to get, and then you strategize—”

“Oh, let her finish, Ares,” Dr. Poison snaps. “What, are you unacquainted with that new-fangled card-playing practice called _shuffling?_ And take off that ridiculous armor, it looks like you made it out of a landfill.”

Ares grumbles and steps away from the table.

“I don’t see you telling _her_ to take off her ridiculous armor,” he says, tearing off his helmet and throwing it to the floor with a loud clatter.

 _“Her_ armor is not in danger of poking my eye out, and anyways, it’s not… ridiculous,” Dr. Poison says, her visible lip curling into a sly smile. Ares rolls his eyes as he waves his hand, and his Sir Patrick disguise returns with a crack of lightning.

Diana throws down the last card, then says, “Where do these Jokers belong? They have no numbers, are they the most powerful, or the least?”

“You’ll find a few dozen of them Gotham City a hundred years from now, and literally no one cares. Are you finished?” Ares says impatiently.

“Yes, now what?”

“Drink something, and _I_ will deal,” Ares snaps, pulling the cards across the table towards him. Diana shrugs, then rises gracefully to her feet and makes her to where the kegs have unceremoniously rolled into the wall.

“She doesn't know how to play,” Dr. Poison says in a low voice, waving a frantic hand in the direction of the goddess. Diana glances back at her and mouths, _Do you want anything?_ from the kegs. Dr. Poison frowns and shakes her head.

“What? Who doesn’t know how to play poker?” Ares says incredulously.

 _“Decent_ people,” Dr. Poison retorts. Ares sighs.

“Fine, we can play War. You don’t have to know anything in order to play that.”

“Oh, _really,”_ Dr. Poison says, her voice deliberately bland, then she rises and walks up to the bar without another word.

Diana watches as she pushes past, the tiny chemist stoutly ignoring the large flagon of mead resting in the hands that barely ten minutes ago had held her own life.

“Where is she going?”

“Presumably to find something suitable to her tastes—a _dead body,_ most likely. Here, sister, these are yours.” Ares pushes her cards across the table towards her and leans back, taking a long drink of wine.

“What am I supposed to do—”

 _“Don’t look at them!”_ Ares shouts, and Diana looks at him, her eyebrows drawn together into a confused frown.

“The point of the game is to not—goddamnit, never mind, let the woman explain it to you,” he snarls, burying his face once more in his wine. Diana shrugs, and they sit in silence for a moment, swallowing down their bitter alcohol, not looking at each other. 

“Who is she?”

“Her?” Ares asks, his face half-hidden from the wine bowl he is currently gulping from. “Dr. Poison. Didn’t you see her during my monologue about human depravity?”

“Yes, yes, but _who_ is she? Why is she here—and _how?”_

“She’s a scientist. And a woman. A woman scientist. Don’t ask me why she does things—the Lord works in mysterious ways.”

“The _who?"_

“She is a walking, talking, scowling mystery,” Ares growls. “Stop thinking and drink your damn mead. The humans like to defy logic at every turn and if I had a drachma for every time one of them did something ridiculous…”

Diana waits, then says, “Then what?”

“Then I could pay Charon to ferry me back and forth across the Styx for eternity, that’s what!” Ares explodes, turning away in a thundercloud and refilling his bowl of wine, spilling half of it onto his fine woolen coat. “Are all of the Amazons blessed with the ability to ask so many _infuriating_ questions?!”

Diana doesn’t honor this with a reply, choosing instead to watch as Dr. Poison returns with a tray. She looks suspiciously from face to face.

“Refills already?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at the wine sloshing around in Ares’ bowl.

 _“Tea?!”_ Ares snorts, glancing over the contents of the tray in disgust.

“I hope you didn’t talk like that when you were representing the British on their so-called _Supreme War Council,”_ Dr. Poison snips, and Ares just grumbles, taking another deep draught of wine.

“Anyway, what is this game?” Diana asks. “And may I?”

Dr. Poison glances at her and nods shortly. Diana reaches out to take one of the cups from Dr. Poison’s tray and pours herself a cup of tea.

“Yes, explain the rules of the game, _bitte schön,_ _Doktor,”_ Ares says mockingly.

“Take the card from the top of your desk and throw it face up onto the table, and whoever has the highest number takes the others,” Dr. Poison says. “And keep this conceited warmonger from cheating.”

“Excuse _me,”_ Ares snaps, seizing his pile of cards as Dr. Poison cackles.

The first round goes smoothly. Diana wins. Dr. Poison fishes a sixpence from one of her many pockets and tosses it onto the table. Ares asks her how many different types of currency she keeps on her person and she scowls and flicks a card at him like weapon. The benign figure of Sir Patrick Morgan ducks with the agility of a much younger man, and the card sails over his head to happily embed into the crumbling wall. Ares takes a long drink and doesn’t pursue an answer.

When Diana loses a round, she drinks deeply from the keg of mead, and when Ares loses, he pours himself a deep bowl of wine. When Dr. Poison loses, she reaches into her pocket and adds to the pile of random currencies, test tubes, capsules, and vials on the table. And as the night goes on, she primly sips her tea as the kegs gradually empty, and the gods gradually descend into the slurred, stupid stupor of drunkenness.

“Seven o’clock,” she announces at seven o’clock, and the gods rouse themselves from their mechanical motions of tossing down and sweeping aside cards.

“Last round?” Ares mumbles. 

“Losers die,” Dr. Poison agrees. 

“No cheating,” Diana says, brandishing the lasso in her hand. Ares rolls his eyes and deals for the final time.

The cards fall.

Diana takes some. Ares takes some. Dr. Poison takes some.

And then some more.

“You know, I never did believe my father when he bragged about you.”

“What are you going on about _now?”_ Diana snaps, rubbing her tired eyes.

“My father, Zeus. Zeus the Fool. Zeus the Bastard, Zeus the Whore—”

“Stop whining and play a damn card,” Dr. Poison orders, fingers tapping impatiently against the dirty surface.

“He said he had seduced the Queen of the Amazons, and that the child from their union would conquer the world.”

“Yes, yes, that sounds like a wonderful story,” Isabel says, sweeping her arm across the table to collect their cards.

“Stop, that’s my _mother,”_ Diana says in disgust. “She never would’ve…”

“The strange thing about it was _my_ mother,” Ares says, the cards nearly spilling out of his hand and onto the table as he reaches for his empty bowl. “Zeus sleeping with another queen like that—she would’ve been the first one to try to kill you. But I never heard a thing from her, and he boasted _openly_ about you, in open _council.”_

“Well, in a few minutes, you can ask her about it yourself,” Dr. Poison says briskly, plucking the last card from Ares’ hand, adding it to her neat pile, and rising to her feet. “You’ve lost. Let’s go.”

Ares stares, his mustached mouth hanging open.

“You… you _cheated!”_

Dr. Poison shrugs.

“Did I?” she says, clearly unmoved. “Prove it.”

“You _cheated!”_ Ares says again, surging to his feet, and promptly toppling sideways onto the floor. The wine bowl clatters down onto the floor next to him, and he lets out a loud groan that sounds suspiciously like, _Cheater._

Dr. Poison rolls her eyes, then she turns to Diana.

“I shall see you on the other side. But not soon, I hope.” Then she turns back and delivers a meaty kick to the God of War’s side. “Get up, you great fool. It’s time to die.”

* * *

"Good-bye, brother."

There is lightning crackling up and down her bracers, and Ares is staring up at her, and his helmet is gone, and there's a little figure of a woman limping away as fast as she can, trying to escape...

And then she crosses her arms, and Ares is blasted from the face of the Earth, and somewhere far below the surface of the world, a pack of angry gods and goddesses are swarming their new arrival...

Diana lands on her feet. The shy is beginning to lighten. The sun is beginning to rise. The uniformed figures scattered across the airfield are beginning to rouse, as if from a deep sleep, and there—the faces of her friends: Sammy, Napi, Charlie.

Ares is dead. Dr. Poison is gone. The war is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact I: It feels big-headed to just have a fic of tumblr content, but tumblr IS kind of terrible for organizing or digging up or even just reading content, so here we are.
> 
> Fun Fact II: I haven't written crack! in ages, so it was fun to brush this off! I originally wrote this to poke fun at the fact that Diana and Ares' fight lasted 10 hours? Like, Steve died at 9PM, and it's November, so sunrise is maybe 7ish, so... anyway, I had actually written most of this back in 2017, but I never posted it :P I did add the Hera discussion at the end as a continuation of my recent UnFuck Zeus campaign, though. I didn't really think twice about Zeus being Diana's dad until I started writing Hippolyta more, and I realized what an insult that storyline was to her!
> 
> Fun Fact III: We're going chronological from post date, so the next chapter will be a "What if Isabel died and Diana went Injustice! on the world" AU, which is a complete 180° from whatever this chapter is. There will also be some general Ma Kent content, some deleted scenes from Silver Moon's Sparkling, and some deleted Marlyta stuff. Something for everybody, basically!
> 
> Fun Fact IV: It's very late, so apologies for any mistakes, I'll come back and edit in the morning!!
> 
> Fun Fact V: Thanks for reading this nonsense!! :D


	2. No More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana snaps after Isabel's death.
> 
> (TW for angst and major character death).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original post: https://bluejaywriter.tumblr.com/post/173206669175/no-more-her-voice-is-a-shaky-whisper-her-eyes

_No more._ _  
_  
Every night, Diana returns, shell-shocked, disoriented, breathless, numb. Every night, her voice is a shaky whisper, her eyes barely open as she lays her head down onto Isabel’s lap. And every night, the chemist strokes her hair, kisses the worry lines away from her forehead, whispers to her, scolds her, quieting her fears, her worries—her rage.  
  
Humanity continues to fall. The old gods die. The new gods die. Now, it is only the humans who are left to play, and they do so with no greater wisdom than the immortals who came before them.  
  
_No more._ _  
_ _  
_ Animals kill for food. For a mate. For leadership over the pack, the pride.  
  
But the humans kill for _fun._ _  
_ _  
_

* * *

One day, they come for her. And they steal her away. And Diana scours the surface of the earth, sifting through the dirt, digging down to the very core of the planet, swimming through the depths of the seas, and the universe itself—but she is too late when at last she finds the empty shell of her beloved.  
  
Once, she believed that the suffering was over. Once, she stared up into the fiery sky and swore that this would never happen again. Once, she vowed that she would not bury another loved one; once, she squared her shoulders, raised her sword, and promised—  
  
_No more._  
  
But. More… came. More happened. More… and more and more and more…  
  


* * *

And so she snaps.  
  
She dries her tears, picks herself up, and brushes the ash from her armor. Presses a final kiss to those brittle lips. Tucks a strand of hair behind that charred ear.  
  
Her hands are shaking as she unclasps her bracers. She sets them down beside Dr. Isabel Maru’s dead body.  
  
And then she leaves to seek her vengeance.  
  


* * *

  
The League is long dead. Those who would hold her back are tossed aside like the puny figures they are.  
  
_No more._  
  
Once, she believed in mankind. Once, she believed in goodness, in kindness, in compassion. Once, she stood alongside them, fought for them, rescued them, was champion to them.  
  
_No more._ _  
_  
Once, she believed in life. In peace. In hope. Once, she would have stayed her hand, sought a negotiation, pleaded for a path away from violence. Once, she had been a force for good.  
  
_No more._  
  
Once, she had believed in love.  
  
_No._  
_  
More._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact I: I actually wrote this a long time ago, and it had nothing to do with recent events. :P
> 
> Fun Fact II: I'm pretty sure there's a WW run or storyline where "No more" is a recurring line, but I can't seem to remember which one it is. The part about her bracers containing her power is from the New 52, which... I mean, I guess it was a cool moment. ~~Why exactly was she fighting Artemis, though??~~
> 
> Fun Fact III: The next chapter is a bit of Marlyta stuff right at their first meeting. I just need to retool it because it's in meta form right now.
> 
> Fun Fact IV: Speaking of which, I posted a nice Marlyta scene yesterday to make up for the angst of this chapter, so go read it if you need some cheering up.
> 
> Fun Fact V: Thanks for reading! Stay safe and try to survive the apocalypse :P


	3. Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some background on Martha Kent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original post: https://bluejaywriter.tumblr.com/post/180434748150/bluejaywriter-anyway-martha-kent-definitely
> 
>  **TW:** Angst and stuff
> 
> Also, I almost feel like you have to be in the right mood/headspace to read this? Like, it's VERY dense, but I think if you take the time to read through to the end, it'll be worth it.

Sometimes, she just needs someone to talk to.

After Jonathan died, the pastor from church (the old pastor before Daniel Leone stepped in) had taken her aside and told her to _lay her burdens of grief and loss at the foot of the cross,_ and if Clark hadn’t been standing next to her, she would’ve told that old man to take her burdens and her foot and shove them somewhere _unkind,_ but she’d just reached out and tucked a dignified hand into the crook of her son’s arm, and the other parishioners in the narthex had been shooting her pitying glances, as if anticipating that she was going to start wailing at any moment, and she’d never hated anyone more—she was Martha Kent, for God’s sake, Martha Clark Fordman Kent, and this wasn’t her first run around that horrible block of widowhood, and at least this time it was quick and painless, and it was the way Jonathan would’ve wanted to go, some sort of twisted, noble self-sacrifice; she’d never have to sit by his bedside, monitors beeping, watching the life being eaten away from him day by day, moment by moment...

She’d marched out of those glass doors before she ended up saying something she’d regret, and after they got home, she’d sent Clark out to walk the dog, and then she’d gone upstairs to change out of her church clothes, and as she was stepping out of her summer dress, the stairs had creaked, and she’d thought for a fleeting second that Jonathan was on his way up, and then he’d come in and catch her half-dressed, and if she was lucky, he’d give her that shy little smile, and they’d start their Sunday afternoon routine a little _early—_

And then the material had pooled around her feet, crushed flowers against a cotton background, and there was a lump in her throat, a knife in her back, and when she went down to pick up her dress from the carpet, she hadn’t made it back up...

If Clark heard her sobbing to herself as she curled up into a little ball on the bedroom floor, trying to muffle her tears with her wadded up dress… well, he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t appear at the door, doesn’t meet her eyes when she finally comes downstairs and starts to make lunch. 

In a way, she’s almost angry that he doesn’t. 

It’s not that Jonathan was ever much of a talker, but somehow, it’s like they don’t know how to fit together as a family without him, as if his strong, silent figure was the glue keeping this whole thing from falling apart, and without him, they’re left to float along in outer space: helpless, hopeless, speechless.

* * *

Hippolyta asks her about it, but the truth is, growing up in Kansas wasn’t really that hard _per se,_ because there was never a moment where exploring the “other side” was an option. There was a sick sort of comfort in that, in the safety of repression, in the knowledge that she would live a normal life and marry a man and have a family, just like her mother before her, and _her_ mother before her, all the way back to when God took a rib from Adam’s sleeping form and used it to create a woman.

But she didn’t get her happy ending, she didn’t settle for safety, not _true_ safety, and after losing her first husband, and then losing her parents, and then not being able to conceive a child with Jonathan, and then losing Jonathan, and then getting attacked/kidnapped twice, and then losing Clark… after all that, she was somewhere on the verge of a nervous breakdown anyway, and then when Clark comes back from the dead, she doesn’t want to be selfish, so she watches him leave Smallville for Metropolis, and just as she’s about to crumble from the mammoth task of unpacking the house and starting her life all over again, that beautiful woman from the Batcave (the one who’d killed herself, and who’d lost her child and presumably her husband, too) had appeared out of thin air, like the guardian angel she was, and Martha slid down to her knees and begged,

_Please take me with you…_

* * *

When Clark was growing up, the neighbors were already starting to talk, and Jonathan was adamant that they’d ostracize him or worse if they found out about his powers, and he didn’t even want to talk about it beyond that within his own family, because what good would it do to the boy except remind him of how different he was, and discourage him from fitting in?

Sometimes one of the neighbor boys would call and ask if Clark wanted to come over to play ball, or ride their bikes around, or go to the movies. And sometimes Martha would cover the phone with her hand and turn around to see Clark gazing back at her through the banister, his face pressed against the bars like a little prisoner, and she’d gaze back at him for a moment, then she’d give her head the smallest of shakes, and he’d retreat back up the stairs. And after she got off the phone, she’d go after him, and he’d be pouting in his room, and she’d pull him into her arms and tell him how much she loved her little pea pod, and how special he was, and how, one day, everything would be better, and everything would make sense, even if it didn’t make sense now.

Martha wants to help, but at some point, running to school and soothing her son’s panic attacks wasn’t enough, and the family was already fraught, with Clark trying to find his place in a world and family that he knew wasn’t his… and then in an instant, Jonathan is dead.

And in that instant, the one person who she could count on to listen, however begrudgingly, to her worries about this wild, incredibly frightening situation was gone. They’d isolated themselves, and for good reason, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s utterly alone in the world now; now, the only one she can talk to about Clark is… Clark. And she would never do that, she’s his _mother,_ his support, his rock, his reminder of how _normal_ he is.

He leaves a few months after his high school graduation, working through the summer so then he has a little extra cash for wherever his hitchhiking takes him (Martha offers him money, but he refuses to take it— _Buy yourself something nice, Ma. You deserve it,_ he says, and Martha snorts, because she doesn’t know what she deserves, but it probably isn’t _nice)._

And then time goes on, and the crops don’t sell as well as she’d hoped, but she can’t wait for a better price with all these bills to pay, and the farm falls into disrepair, and then there’s a whole ruckus with aliens, and a group of idiots in spacesuits throw her truck right through the house, and Clark gets a new outfit, and Martha watches in horror as half a city is destroyed, and thousands of people die, and finally, mankind is introduced to the Superman.

And the world begins to talk.

* * *

It’s not so much that she had to repress her feelings for women her entire life—she can daydream and gaze and imagine all she wants: it’s that she can’t _talk_ about it. Sure, there's gossip about crushes during sleepovers, whispers under the covers with Laura Lang, the infamous “lapdance” incident… but when it came down to it, people like her, people who felt the things she did when she saw a pretty girl or an attractive woman… people like this were discouraged. 

_Strongly_ discouraged.

She didn’t even have a word for it until one of the girls at school mentioned having a gay uncle, and Martha had said, _A what uncle?_ and the girl—still a child, not even a teenager yet—had flipped her hair and said, _It’s a man who has sex with other men._ The other girls had shrieked in horror, and Martha had shrieked with them, and that had been that.

It wasn’t until later that she realized that women could love other women, too.

* * *

It’s the silence that gets to her.

Martha has to listen as her coworkers talk about aliens, about the invaders, about the destruction to their own town, about the Superman.

She has to watch, suffering alone, as the political climate goes from bad to worse, as people on the television debate the legitimacy and necessity of her son’s existence. She has to watch, as the politicians in Washington bring her son to trial, as if he were a criminal, not a hero. And then she has to smile at customers and shout orders into the kitchen and wipe down tables as if nothing was wrong, nothing at all.

When Clark dies, the world ends. She can’t be strong anymore. There’s no one to be strong _for._ They bury her baby boy next to his father, and Martha nearly forgets to pay the funeral director.

After she loses the farm, she goes to see Lois Lane.

She goes because it’s been nearly a year, and she hasn’t been able to talk to anyone about it. Oh, she can talk about Clark, her child, Clark, her boy all grown up gone to become a big reporter in Metropolis, only to die while reporting on Superman, Clark, her _son._

But there’s more. There was always more.

And she has to look into the eyes of someone else who knows, she _needs_ to talk to someone who knows who her son was, what he did, who he was trying to be, who he was struggling to become.

And Lois… she’s not much of a talker, but she is a listener. She’s an investigative reporter, it’s her job to listen and search for answers. She opens the door, and when she sees a frumpy old woman from Kansas standing out on the porch, she reaches out without hesitation, and pulls her into her arms.

* * *

There was a moment.

It had been a few weeks _after,_ and Clark had been out at a graduation party, and Martha had been washing up the last of her dinner dishes and feeling melancholy as she watched the sun set over the fields—and that’s when Nell Potter had banged on her front door and invited herself in and shoved a pie at her, and _she_ hadn’t shown her face at the church ever since word got out about her divorce and why (it wasn’t because her _husband_ had been cheating), and she’d reached out and rested a hand against Martha’s elbow and said, _Anything you need, really,_ and Martha had opened her mouth to offer her some coffee, because for a moment, she’d thought that they were going to talk, just sit down on the couch and talk for a while, but the woman was saying something about the diner, telling her to stop by anytime she and Clark needed a hot meal, and then she’d whisked out with nary an embrace, and Martha had watched her car pull out and roar off down the long driveway, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake…

Clark had been so quiet when he came back home, he’d caught her crying into a half-eaten cherry cream cheese pie, and he’d tried to hold her, but she’d pushed him away and said she was fine.

* * *

She’s still in Metropolis when they bring him back to life. Alfred Pennyworth had invited her to the Batcave to watch the showdown in Russia, and she’s standing in the background, a hand over her mouth as they lay down the body of their fallen warrior, a girl who looks about Clark’s age.

She’s there when the door breaks in, and she finds herself staring into the face of someone who knows, someone who _knows_ the fear of raising a superpowered child, who knows the angst of letting that child go out into an unforgiving world… and who knows the _grief_ of losing that child.

_Clark—no, let her go. Let her go._

Later, she sees her standing on the balcony, staring off into a distance, a lone woman facing the dark world… and for a long moment, Martha lingers in the shadows, watching as the proud figure trembles slightly, whether from the chill of the morning, or from the terrible realization that the sun is about to rise, and for the first time in years, the body laid out inside is not alive to see it…

_Excuse me. I thought you might like… it’ll warm you up._

And the Queen of the Amazons looks down upon her, tears still gleaming in her eyes, this Goddess among Gods, Queen among Queens...

And they begin to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact I: This was actually quite tricky to nail down! I'm still not convinced that's it's not absolutely boring for an outside reader. I mean, I find it interesting because Ma Kent is my jam, but posting an entire 2k chapter with no "in-the-moment" dialogue and no immediately obvious connective tissue, AND nonlinear on top of that... it's a risk I would not often take :P But it's 2021 and I have nothing to lose, so. 
> 
> Fun Fact II: There's a couple lines in Man of Steel where they talk about how Martha and Jonathan isolated Clark (and presumably themselves) from other people in order to keep Clark's powers a secret, and I don't think they ever address that anywhere, how lonely it must've been for them to forge ahead together, and how devastating it must've been for Martha to have to forge on alone after Jonathan and Clark were gone (although, maybe we'll get that in the deleted scene from the Snyder Cut, but if the rumors are true, that's not even Martha in the Martha/Lois scene, soooo).
> 
> Fun Fact III: The diner Nell Potter owns is the one Martha goes to work at after Sears closes. And I know all of her pies sound terrible, but I solemnly swear I'm getting the names from a literal diner/pie place in actual Kansas. Also, Nell is described as an attractive, independent middle-aged woman on the Smallville wiki, so I headcanon that Martha had a bit of a crush on her in their younger days.
> 
> Fun Fact IV: I know Hippolyta just barely makes a cameo in this chapter, but every single stanza is just aching for that last sentence, isn't it?
> 
> Fun Fact V: Anyway, if you made it to the end, thanks for reading! I'm sorry it was kind of depressing, but I hope there was also a tiny bit of optimism in there (just like 2021 so far :P). Take care of yourselves and stuff.


	4. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martha tells Donna the truth about the Amazons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original post: https://bluejaywriter.tumblr.com/post/186059133190/the-amazons-in-mans-world-the-truth

Let me tell you a story:

Time and time again, the Amazons fought. Not many people know this. 

Yes, they were sent to Themyscira and they lived in peace and recovered from the disaster that was their attempt to lead mankind in love and peace. All this is true.

But after a brief time, their warrior blood ignited once more. They petitioned for their Queen to look into the Magic Sphere, and when she saw injustices being done upon the people, she led a group of handpicked warriors back into Man’s World to right the wrongs they had seen. They moved like shadows, and the world of man did not recognize them before they had disappeared once more, already sailing back to the sacred shores of their hidden island.

From then on, each Amazon trained, pushing themselves harder than ever before, preparing their hearts and their bodies for the honor, the  _ privilege _ of being chosen to accompany their Queen to Man’s World, to defeat evil, one battle at a time.

When your sister was born, the Queen sought to protect her. When she was old enough to ask questions, she was told that there were feasts, hunts, rituals that she could not partake in until she was worthy, until she came of age. But she was impatient, and she began to train against her mother’s wishes, hoping to learn of these wondrous things that were forbidden to her.

In time, she learned everything: the true history of the Amazons, the true nature of their role as the protectors of mankind, the true reason the goddesses had blessed the Queen with a child when all of the other Amazons were barren.

The Queen refused to let her step foot into Man’s World. As time passed, their arguments grew more and more heated, and soon, she refused to look into the Magic Sphere at all.

It was then that a man arrived on the shores of Themyscira, sent, perhaps, by the gods as a plea for the Amazons to restore order upon Earth once more. 

Your sister insisted that the Amazon Army be deployed in full to fight alongside mankind and protect the innocents. Your mother refused, and they parted in bitterness.

And ever since that day, your sister has protected the world of man. For a hundred years, she has fought for justice and peace and dignity for the humans.

But she is tired.

She has grown tired, just as the Queen grew tired before she sounded the retreat. She has grown tired, just as Earth grows tired of spinning on its axis, and the sun grows tired of its trek across the sky. She is tired, and don’t tell your mother, but I believe that one day, you will have to—

_ Don’t tell me what? _

Shush, Hippolyta, I’m telling a story.

_ Hmm. Very well, go on. _

As I was  _ saying… _ don’t tell your mother I told you this, but one day, you will have to bury me on Earth. One day, I will die. And you will have to—

_ This is a terrible bedtime story, Martha Kent. _

…no one is listening, anyway, look: All sleepy eyes and sleepy ears.

_ I am not asleep. _

Well, of course not. I have a  _ different _ bedtime story for you…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact I: I actually posted this on tumblr weeks before Donna was even introduced to The Sun and the Moon. :D I think the original intention was for Donna and Nubia to both take over Diana's roles as warrior/ambassador after she retired, but Nubia ended up shouldering the lion's share once their personalities started coming through.
> 
> Fun Fact II: I get that maaaaaybe the movies have Diana as a 5-year-old, and then a 20ish-year-old, so it kind of makes sense that the Amazons are only training "in the event of an invasion" but honestly, after a year or two of all training, no action, I'm pretty sure Antiope at least would petition for the chance to use her skills in Man's World, and if Hippolyta said no, she'd 100% go anyway. And if Diana is 2000 years old, then there's _definitely_ some sneaking out going on.
> 
> Fun Fact III: Thanks for reading! I had a few other chapters that I meant to post before this one, but they're all tangled JFA meta, (not Tangled/JFA meta, lol, although how much fun would that be!) and I don't feel like untangling it all right now.
> 
> Fun Fact III: Also happy international women's day! May we be them, may we raise them etc. etc. :)


End file.
